


Sheltered

by syntheticvision



Series: Usque ad finem [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark fic, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, No use of y/n, Rape/Non-con Elements, Steve Continues To Be An Enabler, Super Serum Baby, Violence, dark bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: Reader is still under the watchful eye of Bucky and Steve.She begins to formulate a plan to flee for good.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Usque ad finem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897819
Comments: 28
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We apparently cannot get off this train.
> 
> Please read the tags. I stress once again that Steve and Bucky are not nice.

Your life was beginning to come back. Slowly, like puzzle pieces shaken in a box, turned over numerous times until they fit.

You had all the time in the world to remember. Your ankle tracker let you go to the edge of the flowerbeds. No more than that and you knew Bucky would be alerted, somewhere on an app downloaded to his phone and his computer, letting him know your every move. Another allowance was to the end of the driveway. Little pieces of victory disguised as permission.

It wasn’t easy with a four year old. Especially one whose DNA was spliced with yours and his. Impossibly fast and incredibly strong, your son was still learning about his abilities, which were much more enhanced than what one would deem normal. Such as his ability to quickly climb the bed and jump on you, ripping your hand from over your eyes with such a force that his strength still kept you in awe and a little afraid.

“Mommy,” he crooned, little hands cradling your head before he leaned down to give you a wet kiss on your temple. “Mommy’s sleeping.”

Truthfully, you wished you were asleep, eyes staring blankly at the wall, lifting your arm up to bring him closer. He was full of love and kindness, something you had fought to instill in him early on before he was corrupted by his father and uncle.

You froze when the door opened wider and you heard Bucky’s voice. A shiver of terror took hold for a moment and you pulled the blankets closer.

“Come on buddy, let your mom sleep,” Bucky chided gently, swooping up the squirming child who grasped at your blankets. “Breakfast is on the table.”

“Cartoons!”

His demanding shriek made you wince before you heard him squeal, father and son’s laughter mixing together while they disappeared down the hallway. For the moment, you had peace, another chance to remember his schedule. This particular week he would be away on a mission, handed down by Stark himself. Right up his alley, defending the world from villains when you were married to one. The irony made you nauseous.

Safe and protected in your home, just like he had always wanted. You memorized the combination to the safe, careful to open it only when your son was asleep as he memorized things too well these days. You missed the weight of the gun in your hand, your wrist turning left and right to get acquainted with the weapon you once could build by memory. You had been so talented before.

A wave of guilt rose up at the thought of losing who you were, backed into a corner by what you first believed to be a well-meaning husband. That was his old-fashioned way, you had once tried to explain to a friend. Being at home with the children was expected at the time when he was growing up. He’d spoken about it once, fond memories of his own mother making breakfast and waiting for him when he got home from school.

Now you knew better. It had always been about control.

Rather than be told, you pushed yourself out of bed, heading to the shower before he came in to remind you to have a seat at the table. Before you closed the door to the shower, you heard Steve’s voice that carried down the hallway.

You made sure to lock the door to the bathroom.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you dried off, bending down to open a cabinet where you hid your supplies, your fingers checking for the taped plastic bags hidden under the sink. All accounted for and in a place Bucky would never think to check. Once you pulled on a pair of shorts and shirt, you dried your hair and tried to look presentable before you were submitted to their cruelty.

In a plastic bag hidden inside the small space inside your make up bag, you popped the birth control pill inside your mouth, swallowing it with a handful of water. You were running low. The next delivery would be within the week. By your calculations, it would arrive when he was away.

Once you opened the door, Bucky was standing right in front of you, looking at your curiously.

“Why was the door locked?” he asked, his voice mild.

“Habit,” you rushed out, trying to move past him when his metal hand caught you in the middle of your chest.

“Remember our rule. No locked doors.”

You nodded quickly.

He pulled you close and inhaled the scent of your shampoo.

“Come on, don’t keep them waiting.”

💣

Steve held your son in his arms, spinning him around as he squealed with laughter, taking your seat at the table as he realized you were there, slowing his movements before he placed him back on the ground, watching the little boy stumble for a moment as he caught his footing.

Steve placed him in his booster seat and took his place across from you. You focused on the trays of food in front of you as Steve looked over at Bucky and then to your son.

“Grant,” Steve began with a smile toward the boy. “Aren’t we happy that your mommy finally can eat at the table?”

Grant nodded enthusiastically, keeping an eye on his father who doled out eggs, fruit and two small pieces of bacon on his plate before he put it down.

“We have to keep her safe, don’t we?”

“Yes!” Grant answered, shoveling a forkful of eggs toward his mouth.

“Is Mommy supposed to leave the house?”

“Nooooo, Mommy stays home. Safe here,” Grant answered proudly.

You kept your eyes on Steve, your disdain apparent on your face as he continued with his questions. He looked directly at you when he launched into another inquiry.

“And what happens if Mommy leaves the house?”

Grant smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “I tell Daddy and Uncle Steve.”

“Good job, buddy.”

Both men gave you a knowing stare. Your beloved son beamed at the praise.

There wasn't need for a tracker when they had Grant.

Your fork clattered down to the plate at his praise and you stood up quickly, Grant’s eyes wide as saucers before you stormed off, knowing Bucky was following close behind. You were nimble, locking yourself in the spare bedroom before he had a chance to get to you. The knob turned and you heard him scoff.

“You have to come out sometime, sweetheart.”


	2. Chapter 2

The brainwashing had already started. Truthfully, you knew the seed had been planted long ago, when he first started to talk. It would only get worse, especially with his strength and his love for you. He would tell them, thinking to keep you safe without knowing the truth of the retaliation you received if you attempted to run away.

But it did not deter you from dreaming about leaving.

The sound of tiny fists banged loudly on the door as he called for you. This is what you dreaded – unsure if it was Grant’s need to see you was on his own terms or if Steve or Bucky were standing close by to urge him on. He had become an effective weapon for Bucky, who had found a way to use your son to coax you out of your hiding spots without having to search himself. Little hands under the doorways, begging for you to come and play, finding you in places that Bucky would never think to look.

Today was no exception.

Eventually you knew the urgent voice would turn into a wail. He’s used to you being around at all hours of the day and closing yourself off made him afraid. The door shook harder and you knew he would try to break through it. He hadn’t yet but you knew the day would come when he would be successful.

“Mommy,” he wailed, his little fingers edging under the door. “Mommy, come play.”

Another thump shook the door and you opened it, unable to ignore the pull he had on your heart. That alone would get you to do anything for him. Grant flew into the room, grabbing onto your legs before he raised his arms for you to pick him up. You closed the door and locked it once more, grateful that he was alone for once without Bucky lurking behind him.

“Mommy, let’s play,” Grant urged, reaching for your trembling hand and pulling you toward the door.

“Maybe later, honey. You don’t want to play in here?” At your panicked question, your gaze darted around the sparse room and landed on a big plastic ball that was in the corner. You reached for it, rolling it toward him, hoping he would be entertained for a little while longer.

It had the opposite effect, Grant’s hold on the ball tight as he reached for the lock.

“No, honey, no!” you yelled, watching him freeze at the sound of your voice.

Strength or not, he was still young enough to know that the voice he heard was unpleasant and his hazel eyes widened with fear. 

“I’m sorry, Grant,” you apologized immediately, gathering him in your arms. “Mommy’s just tired, no excuse for that. I’m sorry I yelled, okay baby?”

“Okay Mommy,” he replied. All was forgiven for the moment before he ran to the door and unlocked it, flinging it open, picking up his ball before he ran outside. “Come play!”

The door was open wide, your hand pushing the door to close before there was pressure from the other side and it flew wide open, Bucky filling the space of the doorway, his lips set into a satisfied smirk.

You heard the door close somewhere down the hallway and you knew Grant was safely outside. Bucky closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

“No locked doors, remember?” He reminded you of the rule, take a step closer to you.

“You’re using him against me.”

“You’re his mother. He doesn’t want anything to happen to you, just like I don’t.”

If only you could believe that. There was nowhere to run in this room and you dodged away from his hands when he tried to grab you. This only made him angry and he lunged, grabbing your wrists and flinging you onto the bed easily as you landed facedown.

His hand forced you down onto the pillows as you struggled to breathe. There would be no use in screaming for help. Grant was outside with Steve, most likely playing without realizing you hadn’t followed him and the room so far removed from the outside that he would hear nothing. Even if he could hear you, there would be no assistance. Steve would make sure of that.

“Are you ready to explain why the door was locked?” he asked, ignoring your sputtering as you gasped for air.

“I’m sorry!” you gasped, your lungs filling with precious air. “I forgot.”

“I find it hard for me to believe that you would forget such a simple rule. You’re too smart for that, sweetheart.” Bucky yanked on your hair, pulling you forward as you shouted in pain. “Try again.”

Your fingers tried to clutch at something – anything – to get away from his grasp but all you felt was air passing through your hands as you were pressed up against his chest.

“I think I figured it out. You’re afraid of Steve, aren’t you?”

At the mention of Steve’s voice, you remembered how you had been felled to the ground, Steve’s weight crushing you for long moments before he had pulled you along. He had been your first friend you had made at your job, friendly and helpful, always making sure you were included in any discussions while he was around. He’d been a listening ear when you shared your fears about dating, even when Bucky had been patient with you, giving you time to trust him.

That was so long ago that you couldn’t remember what it was like before this.

Steve was no longer a friend. You knew that from when he dragged you back inside the house, ignoring your cries for help over and over while he stood watch, making sure you were disciplined for your actions.

Steve liked order. He made sure Bucky did too.

He let you go and you slumped back on the bed, your scalp aching.

“We’ve discussed you before. If you didn’t have so much trouble getting pregnant now, maybe Grant could have a sibling. Steve’s been wanting to have a kid and I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“No.” Your voice was filled with fury.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky said with a small laugh. “I didn’t say it was a done deal. But I will be gone for a week. Who do you think will be watching over you and Grant?”

“That’s sick.” Your head hurt and you tried to block out the idea of Steve being your watchful guardian for a whole week.

“Is it? Do you know how many men didn’t come back from the war? We made pacts, you know. Whoever came back, they’d look after our families.”

“You think you’ll die on this mission?” You shouldn’t have had such hopefulness in your voice.

“No. I’ll be home before you know it. But that was always my promise to Steve. Just like it was his promise to me.”

“You never wanted to share me,” you accused, your voice shaking with the fear that was beginning to set in.

“We make allowances. He’s always had a thing for you. I just spoke up first and you were putty in my hands. I think I molded you pretty well, didn’t I sweetheart?” He took hold of your chin, squeezing it while he waited for your answer.

“I hate you,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes. “Just let me go.”

“Not a chance. You’re mine. You gave me a family. You don’t love us? You don’t love Grant?”

Your eyes narrowed at him, blurry but still focused as much as you could. “I love him.”

The sound of Grant’s voice broke through the tension. Grant opened the door with ease, swinging it open to see his parents. His eyes went to his mother, where he saw tears streaming down her face and his father’s fists at his side.

“Mommy?” Grant asked, climbing up to into your lap, his small hands against your face.

“I’m okay, kiddo. Happy tears,” you soothed, giving Bucky a glare. “Do you want to watch some cartoons?”

He gave you a smile and bolted from the room. Once he left, you exhaled, your heart pounding in your chest. Bucky seemed amused before he turned to leave, stopping only to give you what seemed like a warning.

“I have to finish packing. Good luck this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to get a little more precarious but don't give up hope yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets rough for our dear girl.
> 
> For the sake of what comes next, I implore you to read the tags.

Half asleep, you felt a brush of lips over your own before the bedroom door closed. Your eyes snapped open, realizing that Bucky was leaving.

A whole week that would be spent under Steve’s watchful eye.

You heard another door close down the hall and the soft rumble of the garage opening and closing before you sprinted to the bedroom door and locked it. You leaned against it, still trying to shake the feeling of how odd it was that Bucky continued his rituals from when you were first married. A kiss before leaving like nothing was wrong, like you weren’t a prisoner in your own home.

It was quiet still and you remembered the safe, kneeling down to open it, hoping the gun was still inside it. Relief flooded you when you saw it, holding it in your hand for a moment, awash in the same comforting feeling a child would get from their stuffed animal.

The small box of bullets was taped under the nightstand, free from prying eyes and curious little fingers.

You couldn’t load it. Not yet. It would be the last item on your list before you left. For good measure, you went one step further, the gun still in your hand as you closed the safe quietly, hearing the lock slide into place.

Behind the shoe rack in the closet, you ripped off the last of the duct tape to tape it against the back.

The sun began to creep through the trees, your heart still beating wildly in your chest. You'd put Grant to bed earlier than usual, despite his protests. You'd had to read the same story four times at his insistence before he finally fell asleep. He would be up early now, giving you a reprieve from Steve, who was most likely sleeping in the guest room. Curiosity made you want to open the door but common sense led you away from the door and to check your supplies in the bathroom.

Still there, all accounted for.

You dove into your makeup bag, searching for the small plastic bag. When you pulled it out, your eyes widened in shock. The foil was punctured, every last pill missing. You remembered Bucky's words the day before, his comment about you having trouble getting pregnant. Perhaps he had known or maybe it was Steve. Your stomach flipped on itself as you placed the small bag back where it came from.

You forced yourself to stop shaking, taking a deep breath before you exited the bathroom and unlocked the bedroom door. You needed to pretend that nothing was wrong, that you didn't see the fact your pills had been removed.

You popped a pod in the coffee maker, leaning against the marbled kitchen island counter. It was still quiet, rays of sunshine spilling through the blinds. If you were alone, you would almost cherish this moment, this quiet solitude before the storm. The hiss of the machine let you know your coffee was ready. It was like going through a checklist, opening the cabinets and pulling out the ingredients you needed for breakfast.

Pulling out the cast iron skillet, you flipped it around in your hand, making a mental note of how it could be used as a weapon. The patter of little feet caught your attention, a pair of arms grabbing onto your legs while you placed it onto the stove.

"Morning Mommy," Grant whispered before he broke into a fit of giggles.

"Good morning." You bent to give him a kiss on the top of his dark head of hair. "Pancakes?"

This routine was easy. Grant threw up a triumphant fist and gave you a sheepish look.

"Cartoons?"

He was waiting for you to say no. It was your usual rule, trying to keep up with a smart and energetic four year old who learned too quickly. Television wasn't always bad but he had a penchant for certain cartoons that made you uneasy. They were almost parallel to his father's career and when he was in the backyard, he took what he learned from his shows and applied it to invisible fighters that only his imagination could create. Even when you peeked out from the windows, you could see him one day fighting side by side with his father.

If only it could be that noble.

"There's a nature documentary," you tried to offer. "Penguins. You like those, right?"

"I do." Grant sat on the couch, his little fingers already pressing the button down to bring the TV to life.

"Why don't you watch that first and then you can watch cartoons after breakfast. Deal?"

"Okay. Deal." He let you select the program and then he snatched the remote away. Holding it in his hand seemed like a big deal and you were not about to argue with him.

When you made your way back into the kitchen, broad shoulders appeared in your view. Steve turned around at the sound of you, drinking his coffee while he scrolled through his phone, his eyes leaving the screen to look at you.

"Good morning." He flashed you a smile while you stood in place. Glancing over to see Grant enthralled with the documentary, his smile transformed into a smirk. "What should we get ourselves into today?"

"We have a schedule. I was going to make breakfast first."

Steve walked around the island and motioned with his head to allow you to pass. "It's all yours. Do you need any help?"

You shook your head. "Maybe you could keep Grant company?"

Pulling out a bar stool and sitting, you had gotten your answer from Steve. He placed his phone on the counter and watched you pull out a mixing bowl. You felt his eyes on you with every movement. You went to work, measuring out the ingredients and hearing Grant's laughter in the background. You poured the batter in the skillet, still feeling his eyes on your back.

"Barton wants to know if Grant wants to come over and play with Nathaniel. I told him I'd ask you."

You flipped the pancake, trying to keep your voice level. "I'd prefer if he stayed home today."

"Grant?" Steve called out loudly.

"Yes!" came the reply from the living room.

"Hey buddy, you wanna play with Nathaniel today?" Steve's eyes never left yours as you turned around at his defiance.

"YES! YES! YES!" Grant scampered into the kitchen, eyes wide with excitement. "When?"

"Eat your breakfast and we'll walk over," Steve suggested, shooting you another look. "Together."

💣

Despite your pleas to have Grant slow down, he finished his breakfast and allowed a quick shower, pulling on his clothes and shoes while you tried to keep up with him as he tried to pull you toward the door. Steve was waiting for you, swinging Grant up over his shoulder as he opened the door.

"You can take him." This was your last ditch effort to try to get your mental checklist together and give yourself some time to think.

"We're going to together, remember?" Steve's voice was cheerful but held absolutely no room for an argument.

"Come on, Mommy," Grant added, reaching for you as you leaned in to let him throw his arms around your shoulders, the rest of his little body over Steve's shoulder. He wiggled himself back to Steve as the door opened.

The walk felt like torture, the sun shining and birds chirping around you while Grant and Steve talked about Bucky. It wasn't lost on you that these two men were your son's heroes. It was also obvious that Grant missed his father, asking at least twice when he would be home before he saw Nathaniel at the front door. The two ran toward each other, Barton nodding in your direction before he turned his attention to Steve.

"Laura will be making lunch in a little while so Grant can stay as long as he likes. It's been a while since he's been over and Nate's been asking about him." You knew the last part was directed at you. You hadn't wanted him to be around any of Bucky's enablers.

"We'll pick him back up in a few hours," you said quickly, wanting to break the awkward silence.

"You got it," Clint said carefully, your eyes catching the shared stare between them both.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned on your heels, walking down the small path and back onto the sidewalk. You walked aimlessly on purpose to not arouse his suspicion, angling your body toward the direction of the house.

As the door closed, you made a run for it, knowing you didn't have long until he caught up. You heard Steve shout in surprise, your shoe catching on a wall as you lifted yourself over it and ran on the thin fences. Years of gymnastics training had been ingrained inside your head, the soles of your shoes planted firmly in the middle. He had done exactly what you had anticipated, hopping over a fence into a backyard, buying you more time to run. He was getting closer. You heard his shoes hit the ground behind you while you continued on.

Within moments, you were thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of you. Steve grasped you by the throat as you clawed at his arms, the weight of his body on yours as you screamed for help. His hand went over your mouth, pressing your head down into the dirt. It was useless to try to kick him, his weight overpowering you.

"I knew it," Steve snarled against your face. "You always have to be so difficult. At least you made it easy for me. We're home."

You looked around the backyard and noticed the little tool shed that Grant had been gifted for Christmas, his big plastic ball in the corner.

Fate had been unreasonably cruel.

"That tracker has been going off for over ten minutes. Bucky's got a mission to finish. He doesn't need distractions. Now I'm going to pull you up and we're going inside the house. If you make so much as a peep, I'll make you regret it. Got it?"

You nodded, feeling the air expand back in your lungs when he lifted himself off of you. He grabbed your arms, pulling them behind your back as he pulled you up.

"You look like a mess. Time for a shower." He marched you past the side gate and to the front door, pushing you inside once he opened it. At this, you bolted to the bedroom, still in pain from how you'd fallen.

You'd underestimated how fast he was, the door slamming open before you had a chance to close it. He shoved you down onto the bed, hand at your throat as you thrashed underneath him.

"You don't get it, do you? All this fighting me... I could do this all day," he promised you. "Do you miss Bucky now? He's always had the intimidation factor going for him, I know. He scares you. But not as much as I do."

You wheezed as he pressed on your windpipe, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. At this, you broke down into tears, still trying to free yourself from his grasp.

"Shh, I know. I've waited so long to have you. Bucky's always had the best, you know. Always taller than me, always getting all the girls before all the changes took place. I thought just once I'd get one to myself but you chose him too. He's always been the lucky one." Steve's hand let up on your throat a little and you coughed, trying to breathe in air. "You haven't taken your pill today, have you?"

At the mention of your birth control, you tried to force yourself up, his hand wrapping around your throat once more and holding you down on the bed.

"So careless. Bucky's been wanting another baby. We both didn't come from big families. Always wanted a house full of kids. All this time, you've been holding out on him. I found them last night while you were asleep."

When you were asleep. He and Bucky had been up talking while you had mumbled an excuse to go to bed so you could have some moments of solace. Now you knew that he had been inside your room and bathroom. You were lucky he hadn't checked underneath the counters.

"But you'll be a good girl now, won't you?"

You sputtered to catch your breath as his hand moved from your throat, pinning your hands above your head, his knees in between your thighs. His nose nearly touched yours as his free hand slipped under your shirt and skimming up your chest, his fingers pulling down the front of your bra, seeking out your hardened nipples between his fingertips.

"I wanted to take my time. I owed that to myself," he said against your lips. "But I can't wait anymore."

You still fought against him as his hand fell down to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down roughly down your thighs. It was fruitless to fight but you did it anyway, your fists landing blows on his chest that did nothing to him, fighting in vain to deter him from pulling down your pants and underwear that he managed to get down past your knees.

Calling for help was useless, you had learned that lesson a long time ago. Your breath hitched in your throat at the loss of your pants and you tried to knee him once more before it was caught by his hand.

"Still fighting me. I'm still going to have you, sweetheart. Maybe we'll make a baby after all."

You felt him, the tip of his cock brushing against your clit before he spread your legs wider before he sunk into you. Your fingernails raked down his chest angrily, hoping to draw blood while you struggled to breathe at how full you were. You gritted your teeth at the invasion, tears prickling at your eyes. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

"God," Steve panted. "I knew you would be worth it."

You turned your head toward the closet, your body moving with every thrust as he lifted your legs higher. The headboard tapped against the wall as he pounded into you, sweat beginning to form on his brow.

"Just as perfect as I thought you would be," he grunted while he pushed into you, his pace increasing until you felt him come, warmth spilling inside you as he groaned.

Inside the closet, behind the shoe rack, was your gun.

He pulled out of you slowly, still out of breath while you focused on the closet door before you closed your eyes.

While he was hoping you were dreaming in bliss, you were counting down the hours until you could load the bullets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All is not lost.
> 
> On another note... remember in Civil War when Tony's AI memorized Steve's fighting pattern???


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, the tension.

Steve was old school.

Left hook almost every single time. As time went on, he learned Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Krav Maga. You’d seen him practice on your way into work more than once, walking past the glass windows that offered a glimpse into the gym, watching him train without fail. When he had his shield, it was always thrown with his right hand. Still powerful but the right was not as practiced as the left.

Bucky's style was much grittier, which was in contrast to his seasoned skills as a sharp shooter.

You'd made sure to memorize Steve's fighting pattern, especially after you were taken back home after they burst into your apartment. The basement was their second training ground, where you found yourself analyzing Steve's fists landing on the punching bag and Bucky's weapons that he was able to pull apart and piece back together with deadly efficiency. You had not had the chance to lift the weapons you knew he had left in the basement.

Not yet, anyway.

It was insidious, the sound of the TV playing down the hallway, Steve's hand over your mouth while he bruised your cervix with every thrust of his hips. Your body betrayed you at his invasion, your cunt slick and tight around his cock, his words of praise against your ear.

The hand over your mouth was more for his protection than for you to scream. The room was soundproof - you had Bucky to thank for that - but Steve had gotten a taste of how hard you could bite.

Steve liked you like this, quiet and pliable, not fighting him any longer. It also gave him the resemblance of what it could have been. You felt him twitch inside you, cum filling you while he tried to steady his breath before he eased out of you, pulling his sweatpants back up after he kissed your forehead.

Your mind continued to tick.

The gun in closet, pills behind the vanity mirror.

Everything hidden away and ready for you.

At the sound of the door closing, you slowly lifted yourself off the bed, wincing at how tender you were before you ripped the sheets off of the bed and changed them.

💣

Grant pulled you down, his arms locked around your neck as he peppered your face with kisses. He pointed to his book and you eased yourself slowly down on the bed, his little face marred with worry at your discomfort.

"Mommy, are you hurting?"

"I'm okay, honey," you promised, smoothing down his hair and flipping through his book. "Which one should we read? We haven't read Little Red Riding Hood in a while."

He settled back on his bed as you read, keenly aware that Steve would find you the minute you were done. You took your time, peering over at Grant's backpack that was sitting on his toy box. Grant wouldn't understand. You knew that, watching his eyes begin to droop as sleep started to take over.

"Goodnight," you whispered, kissing him on the forehead. You looked around his room, making a mental note of how long it would take you to gather his things. For now, you needed to wait.

The hallway was dark when you opened Grant's door, closing it behind you to hear the sound of a shower in the guest bathroom. In the dark, you ventured to your bedroom, pulling out the pills and shaking a handful in your hand. These had been easy to re-order - this medication the same as Steve had given you the day he had forced you back into the house and drugged you. With his metabolism, it wouldn't put him to sleep for long but a small amount of time was all that you needed.

You slipped the pills into the pocket of your shorts, walking past the bathroom quickly. You busied yourself in the kitchen, humming Bernard Hermann's Twisted Nerve to keep yourself occupied while you pulled out mugs and put a pan of milk on the stove. Crushing the pills was easy, using the pill grinder you had ordered after Grant refused to take his medication when he was sick once. You had gotten creative and sprinkled it into his orange juice and had never looked back. You dumped the heap of powder into a mug, mixing the hot chocolate mix with the hot milk as you heard the door open.

Now was not the time to lose your cool. You poured yourself another packet of hot chocolate into another mug with the milk and stirred it, placing his mug on the other side of the island, taking a sip of yours while you waited.

Moments later he appeared, his hair still damp from his shower. He pulled out the bar stool and sat, watching you back up slowly.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, tilting the mug to his lips.

"It's a little cold outside. Grant and I always have hot chocolate when it gets chilly. Sometimes Bucky joins in." That was a lie, Bucky hated hot chocolate but it was necessary to add it on. Tradition was important to them both and Steve's shoulders straightened at your comment.

"Do you miss him?"

You closed your eyes, giving a small nod. "I do. He usually calls by now."

Steve let out a small chuckle. "It's only been two days, sweetheart. Give him a chance to settle."

By the time he had a chance to settle, you would be long gone.

"I haven't had hot chocolate in years," Steve remarked, placing the mug down as he licked his lower lip. "That brings me back."

You collected the mugs and placed them in the sink, washing them slowly while Steve stretched and looked at the time.

"Later than I thought. What time are you going to bed?"

"After I finish the dishes. I was going to give Bucky a call. Even if he doesn't answer, at least I could talk to his voicemail." The conviction in your voice had returned and Steve nodded in kind.

"I get it. When you're done, let me know."

You dried off a mug while he headed into the living room, reaching for the last one as you dried it slowly. By your calculations, you had to wait fifteen more minutes before you could start your tasks.

You wiped down the counters and placed the mugs back into the cabinet, moving closer to the living room to see Steve on the couch.

"Going to call Bucky," you announced, waving your phone toward him. He was fast asleep, the timer on your phone starting.

💣

It took less than two minutes for you to load the gun and place the extra bullets in your bag. The taped plastic bags were ripped from their hiding places and stuffed into your overnight bag, your clean clothes lifted from the dresser and placed inside. You placed the bag behind the door, stepping outside into the hallway to check on Steve, who was still sleeping.

Ten minutes left.

You crept into Grant's room, moving around his room with ease. His backpack was filled within minutes, full of clean clothes, toys and his bedtime book. You placed that on top of your overnight bag, talking a deep breath before you checked on Steve once more. He'd moved to his side, still asleep.

Five minutes left.

The garage door opened slowly and you thanked your luck for the well oiled door that you fixed days prior, dragging your overnight bag and his backpack into the backseat of the car. You still had the spare set taped on the underside of the car.

One minute left.

You closed the door to the garage right as you heard your name, Steve's voice heavy with sleep and confusion.

"Coming," you answered, padding down the hallway to watch him struggle to get up. He shook his head quickly, still trying to move himself up from the couch.

Delayed reaction time would be another fifteen minutes.

He was still strong enough to run after you if you tried.

"What did you put in that hot chocolate?" he slurred, his eyes barely lifting up to glare at you.

"Enough benzos to put a normal person down for the night," you replied.

He steadied himself on the coffee table, standing up while you took a step back. He swayed for a moment, a smirk appearing on his face.

"Metabolism, sweetheart. Once it's out of my system, you're in trouble."

Five more minutes.

You disappeared into the kitchen, hearing him behind you while you gripped the cast iron skillet in your hand. Like clockwork, he lunged at you, his left hand swiping forward to grab you and you dodged. He swayed once more, angered by how quickly you had moved out of his path. He tried once more and you dodged it again, swinging the pan upwards as it connected with his jaw with a crack. He toppled backwards, falling onto the carpet, his body still. 

Reflex time took anywhere between fifteen to twenty minutes.

For Steve, anywhere from fifteen to ten minutes.

You raced into Grant's room and scooped him up, still watching Steve's body on the carpet while you backed away toward the garage, Grant still fast asleep. You placed him in his seat, reaching under to grab the key, your heart beginning to pound so loud you could swear someone could hear. You started the car, still barefoot while you hit the clicker for the garage to open. The gun sat on your passenger seat, your eyes still watching the door as the garage door rolled up fully.

To not raise suspicion, you backed out slowly, your eyes darting between the closing garage door and the front door, your lights off while you went in reverse and then back to drive, the tracker on your ankle flashing below, illuminating the door with a bright red light. There would be time to disarm it but not now. You turned down the next block and then onto the quiet street, still looking behind you for any sign of Steve.

He would be awake by your calculations at the moment.

You dug inside your purse for the makeshift magnetic scrambler and shoved it down by your ankle, popping it open in the process with the force. You tossed it out the window, heading for the freeway on ramp.

💣

"Where's Uncle Steve?" Grant asked, rubbing his eyes and pulling off the blanket you had placed around him.

"He's still at home, buddy. You and I are going on an adventure. That sounds fun, right?"

He continued to rub his eyes, looking around at the empty highway.

"I miss Daddy."

"I know you do. We'll see him soon, okay? Are you hungry? I got you something."

He yawned and nodded.

You cringed at having to feed him fast food but as he chewed on a french fry, Grant seemed to warm up to the idea of an adventure. He looked out the window and pointed out the mountains.

"What kind of adventure?"

"We're going to hide for a little."

"Hide and seek!"

"Something like that," you agreed, handing him a juice box. "We'll be hiding for a little while but we'll have fun, I promise."

He busied himself with his toys that you had placed in the backseat, your eyes still on the lookout for any car that seemed to get too close. You'd disabled your phone, saving all the directions you needed via recordings and screenshots. You had a full tank of gas now, your third stop on the way up from the small cabin you had found years ago. You'd be there within a few minutes, the car heading up a steep hill.

When you finally reached the cabin, you parked the car in a small garage a few steps away, taking Grant's hand.

"Can you keep a secret, Grant?"

"Yes," he said, puffing out his little chest.

"Perfect. We can't tell anyone we're hiding out here, okay? We want to win this game, right?"

Grant nodded quickly. "I like to win."

"Me too."

You led him up the steps, maneuvering the heavy bags over your shoulder while you opened the door. Grant went running off to explore the small space as you dropped the bags onto the ground and looked around. Boxes of non-perishable food awaited you at the patio, the gun still in the waistband of your pants. A larger box waited outside while you strode into the bedroom to see Grant jumping on the bed.

"Can you come in the living room? There's a TV there," you hinted. "I need to do something outside but I want to make sure I see you."

He hopped off the bed with ease, running past you and into the living room.

You watched him sitting on the sofa, waving to you while you unraveled a spool of wire outside, counting your steps and marking them. It would take a while to put up a defense but you'd bought yourself time.

They'd come eventually.

You were counting on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end for our dear girl. At least, not yet. But she got away!
> 
> She still has to contend with a wounded Steve and Bucky, who I am sure will be wondering how she escaped. Will Grant have a sibling? Will she ever use that gun?
> 
> I wonder...


End file.
